Though he wasn’t her friend, he had been with her for what seemed life her entire existence.
What he had for her was an undesired affection. She did not want his love, nor did she yearn for his presence. The truth is, she never had a need for him in her life. She loathed him with a fervent passion. She did not shy away from a chance to get rid of his company, of him.
Their attempts to eliminate him were none but failures and therefore, he remained with her. His love was strong, his resistance stronger.
Her detest he could understand, for he, better than anyone, understood that his affection caused her only pain.
Still, he could not help it.
He could not help it. He could not help it when he witnessed her become enamored with another soul. More than plain jealousy, he resented being an obstacle in her way to happiness.
But to leave her was beyond his ability. Bound by an uncanny force, they would continue to be together until both ceased to exist.
He could not help it when he stabbed her in her busoms. He only watched in solemn silence as life flowed out from her body and her face distorted in frozen agony. He needed not to do anything else, for as soon as the last streak of life fled her, so it did him.
They found her stiff cold body in the deserted alleyway. Young as she may have been, they had already anticipated a scenario in which they would come to see her face one last time, with tears in their eyes and flowers in their hands. As her body was carried away, a brief note was created : the young woman had been killed by her chronic heart-attack.